Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, do you honestly think this would be posted on a fan fiction site? Huh, if these were all mine, I'd be a millionaire. Obviously, I don't own them. And I made up an older brother for Lily Evans, who actually is a figment of my imagination. That's about it. So please read and review.

I don't know where it all started. Perhaps it was during our first ride on the Hogwarts Express, or perhaps in our fourth year, in Potions together. Maybe it was simply… meant to be, like a prearranged destiny, with the blessing of some great deity. I really, honestly couldn't tell you.

All I know is that more and more recently, when I see those brilliant green eyes, I know I can never rest until they know me for what I am.

Well, I do remember when we first met. A complete fiasco, now that you mention it. I think that first impression has stuck with her all six and a half years we've been at Hogwarts. I suppose I might as well tell you. What can it hurt? Alright then, you asked for it. Here goes nothing.

The scarlet steam engine sat in front of me, warming up to leave in less than five minutes. Dad rolled the trolley over to the train, where an attendant loaded my trunk into the compartment. Mum hovered over me like… well, like any mother about to send their only child away for nine months. I paid little attention to them; my focus was on the witches and wizards bustling around me on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. I had never had much contact with others of the wizarding community. Dad had taken me with him to the Ministry once or twice, but other than that, I had a couple of private tutors and distant glimpses of wizards, and that was about it.

Private tutors, you ask? Yeah, my parents were kind of nutters about education. They wanted to make sure I was all caught up with the other kids when I finally came to Hogwarts. I tried to tell them that none of the other kids would know anything about magic, but, well, they didn't listen. So by the time I turned eleven, I knew the theory of just about every spell I was supposed to be able to do right up through the end of my third year. I couldn't actually do them, of course; that would've been against the law. But I knew the wand motions, the exact inflection, and even the spelling of about a gazillion spells.

We can afford all of this because Dad- Mr. Abraham Potter, as he was known to everyone else- was the head of the Department for Interfactual Musical Coronation… or something like that. We also have a ton of gold that's been passed down for centuries from our "pureblood" ancestors. Not that I give a care about all the pureblood, muggle-born, halfblood or anything, but being a pureblood does have its advantages.

After a tearful hug from my mother and a consolidating pat from my father, I boarded the Hogwarts Express just as the whistle sounded. It was about then that I freaked out.

I was alone for the first time in my life. I didn't know anyone, I was leaving London, where I'd lived my entire life, and I was going to a school I knew next to nothing about. Mum had gone to Beauxbatons, a French school of witchcraft, and Dad's parents had preferred to keep him home and have him privately tutored.

I almost started crying right then and there. But I was growing up now, and, like all hormonal boys, I refused to let myself show my weaknesses. So I pushed back the tears and made my way along the narrow hallway, looking for a compartment in which to seat myself.

The older kids all looked intimidating, so I settled for a compartment with two boys that looked my own age. I opened the door timidly. "Can I sit in here?" I asked, hoping that I wouldn't be rejected.

One of the boys shrugged. He had long, so-dark-brown-it-was-almost-black hair that fell handsomely (is it possible for an eleven-year-old to be handsome?) in front of his gray, fathomless eyes. The boy he was sitting across from had brown hair and had a pallid, sickly look about him, but his brown eyes were sharp and intelligent. Between them, hovering in the air was a chessboard. The pale boy prodded a rook forward to begin smashing up the other boy's bishop, and then he turned to look up at me.

"I'm Remus," he told me, "Remus Lupin."

"James Potter," I said. "Nice to meet you. Are you a first year, too?"

As the pale boy nodded, the other one leaned forward in his seat. "James Potter? You wouldn't happen to know Abraham Potter, Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, would you?"

So that was it. Magical, not musical. "He's my dad," I said, nonplussed.

"Thought so," he muttered. Then he extended his hand. "I'm Sirius Black."

I took the hand. Little did I know then that this Sirius Black was to become my best friend in the entire world.

Sirius returned to the chessboard as I assumed a seat beside him. I watched, as in three swift moves, Remus checkmated the king. Sirius scowled moodily and turned away, and I saw that Remus couldn't contain a small smile as he scooped the pieces back into the box.

Sirius pulled out of his pocket a tiny, winged ball: a snitch. I got excited. The part about Hogwarts that I had looked forward to the most was Quidditch. After all the practices I'd had with myself in the backyard, I was pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.

He released it and let it soar an arms length away before snatching at it. He caught it the first time, but when he tried to repeat the feat, he missed. I stretched my hand out and grasped it.

He grinned at me. "Nice catch.

Remus pulled out a book called Spells and Their Origins and buried his nose in it. Sirius and I engaged ourselves in a conversation about Quidditch, trying to outdo each other's knowledge.

Around lunchtime, a witch wheeled a trolley laden with all kinds of sweets past our compartment and asked if we wanted to buy anything. Remus hardly glanced at it, turning slightly red, as Sirius and I unloaded our pockets and bought about five of everything. This was when I first noticed that Remus's robes were a bit shabby, as though he had gotten them second hand.

I tossed him a chocolate frog and opened one myself, saying, "Don't look so glum. You start the year out that way and you'll be in tears by the end of term."

He smiled reluctantly and opened the chocolate frog. The card inside displayed Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. Remus frowned. "I didn't know he was famous enough to be on a chocolate frog card."

Sirius' eyebrows went up. "You must be pretty behind the times to not know how famous Dumbledore is. Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards… the whole thing. Name an award, and he's won it."

Remus turned red again. "Oh. I don't really read the newspapers."

At that moment, the door slid open. Standing in the doorframe was a first year girl with dark red hair in a long braid and green, almond-shaped eyes.

My mouth dropped open. This was the most beautiful eleven-year-old girl I had ever, ever seen.

When she looked at me, I had the decency to close my mouth. We all stood there in awkward silence for a moment before she spoke. "Have you seen a boy named Brian Evans? Tall, red hair?"

I shook my head dumbly. She looked at me oddly. "Are you related to Abraham Potter? You look like him."

I nodded. And I just couldn't keep it in any longer. "You're really pretty," I told her.

She looked at me coolly (she never seems to lose her cool), but her eyes betrayed confusion, as though she couldn't tell whether I was mocking her or paying her a compliment.

"Thank you. I'll be going now." She turned around and began to stalk away.

"Wait!" I called after her. "What's your name?"

Her only reply was to swing her beautiful braid over her shoulder and disappear into a compartment further down the hall.